


Calimari

by Jaune_Chat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Body Horror, Consentacles, Double Anal Penetration, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Established Relationship, M/M, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-26
Updated: 2011-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:22:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28215417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaune_Chat/pseuds/Jaune_Chat
Summary: During a job, Dean has some calamari as a restaurant.  The results are not what he expected.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	Calimari

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place vague S6, written for Tentaclefest on LiveJournal

“Sounds like a gory one, Sam,” Dean was saying, smirking a little as Sam winced away from the pictures he’d conned the local coroner out of sending to his “FBI” e-mail address.

“Uh yeah. We have a goring, a dismemberment, and a disemboweling, all within two weeks. Wow…” Sam muttered, quickly closing the pictures. “They’re calling them wild animal attacks.”

“Except for the missing people,” Dean prompted, trying to stay focused on the case, despite the sounds coming from under the hood. His baby sounded like she was whining, almost screaming. Definitely time for a new belt.

“Right, three missing people, all gone around the same time as the bodies turned up, but the details on them are pretty sparse. It looks like someone’s trying to keep this pretty quiet.”

“Ok, so let’s get-. What the hell is this?” Dean said in exasperation, as small crowds of people began to clog the sidewalks downtown, most of them wearing some kind of plaid. 

Sam looked around, and pointed to a banner hung above the entrance to a city park. “Highland Games, looks like.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Great, more idiots running around here wearing kilts and tossing cabers when there’s some kind of killer on the loose.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean’s knowledge.

“That thing with the leprechaun, I ran across one or two things doing research.”

“Uh huh,” Sam said skeptically.

“Fine, whatever. I need to get a new belt in my baby before she collapses on me. I’ll go get us a motel and set up, you go talk with the coroner and see if you can get anything that connected the missing people with the dead ones,” Dean said, pulling over a few blocks from the police station. “See you in a few hours, ok?”

Sam unfolded himself from the passenger side and grabbed his FBI ID, a very faint lascivious smirk still on his face.

“And you can still shut up about the whole Highland Games thing. I’m not doing under-tartan caber-tossing,” Dean added as Sam shut the door, and sped off before Sam could get in the final word.

\-----

Dean shuddered as he staggered the last few steps from the Impala to the motel room, fumbling the key in his haste to get behind closed doors. Fucking hell, it felt like his jeans were going to explode, his dick cruelly squeezed in underwear that had somehow shrunk three sizes since he’d let his mind wander at the restaurant after he’d fixed his baby. He really, really hoped Sam had found something in his research, because Dean was going to need to run some of his hormones off. They couldn’t afford an all-night “fuck each other’s brains out” session while people were dying left and right.

He tried to breathe deeply to calm himself, the smell and taste of the fresh-fried calamari he’d eaten this afternoon still thick on his tongue. The scent was somehow making his cock even harder, though the way Dean felt right now, _anything_ would make his cock harder. 

The lock finally gave way, and Dean groaned to see that Sam wasn’t back yet. No messages on his phone either; he must be on to something. Dean cut off a gasp as his cock tried to twitch in the too-small confines of his clothes, demanding attention. Fuck, his right hand would have to do until Sam got back, because there was no way Dean could concentrate on anything related to strange deaths until he’d gotten off.

Dean flung off his shirts and jacket on the way to the bathroom, not even caring where they ended up, and took off his boots gingerly, because leaning over was pinching something fierce. He eased off his jeans, and started to hyperventilate a bit when he saw the bulge in his underwear. It strained the seams of the fabric; it didn’t look real. Dean had always been more that satisfied with his dick size, but this was like something out of a porn star’s nightmare.

He slowly took his underwear off as he sat on the side of the tub, hissing when his cock bounced out of its confines. 

“Oh, fuck…” he whispered. His penis looked like Moby Dick’s dick, swollen to almost three times his normal size, hard and almost screaming to be touched. Every twitch, now that he was no longer squeezed into jeans, felt unbelievably good. Deep red lines spiraled around it from base to tip, and they itched ever-so-slightly. Dean swallowed hard, nausea warring with the pleasure surging through his cock. Was this some kind of late-showing exotic VD he’d picked up from one of his barroom conquests?

Dean was almost afraid to touch himself, but he certainly didn’t _hurt_ , and he didn’t notice any other symptoms (and he’d gotten really good at noticing those). Another surge of pleasure rocked him, and his oversized cock twitched hard, a bead of pearly pre-come glistening on the purple head. Hesitantly, Dean put his hand around his cock, gasping at how fucking good it felt. He couldn’t even begin to close his hand around his swollen girth, but didn’t even care as he stroked once down his new length.

He came hard enough to pitch himself into the bathtub, screaming in ecstasy and horror as his cock came apart in his hand, the red lines deepening and separating from each other. Dean couldn’t even form any words as he yanked his hand away to try to brace himself against the sides of the tub, his unbelieving eyes focusing on his crotch. Waves of release barely tempered his fear as his dick split apart at the red lines, falling into a writhing nest of fleshy tentacles, each one stiffening and spurting something black onto the white porcelain tub. The Rorschach-like blots danced in front of Dean’s eyes as the chain reaction of pleasure and terror pushed him right out of consciousness.

\-----

Dean woke sometime later, feeling drained, thirsty, and horny. He groaned and laughed softly to himself at the weird dream he’d had, before opening his eyes to see the bathroom ceiling. Icy fear shot through him as he realized he was lying in the bathtub, feeling sticky and strange. A pleasant, wave-like motion was going on in the vicinity of his crotch, and Dean warily looked down at himself.

He stopped from puking only by dint of an iron stomach and forty years spent in Hell, and closed his eyes to try to calm himself. 

The tentacles were still there when Dean opened his eyes, restlessly twitching, all springing from what should have been Dean’s trusty tool. He swallowed, forced himself to breathe, and looked at them again. There were eight fleshy tentacles, somewhat thinner than his cock, the underside somewhat red and covered with tiny little… Dean gingerly poked one, swore when it wrapped itself his finger gently, and realized the underside had little suckers on them. 

“Oh my God, oh my God…” Dean chanted slowly, using the mantra to keep hysteria at bay. This was real. This was really, really real. And it was because it wasn’t just how they looked that was freaking him out, it was how they felt. They felt _good_. The one wrapped around his finger was squeezing it lightly, and the suckers were tickling in a way that Dean knew would drive Sam insane.

No. Fuck, no. He couldn’t let Sam see him like this, couldn’t touch him with these… things.

The tentacles writhed again as the fantasy crossed his mind, the feeling of them rubbing against each other setting off sparks that were building into fireworks. Christ, this was like having eight cocks, each one raw and sensitive, begging, no, _demanding_ to be touched, to fuck, to get inside someone’s mouth and feel their tongue on them, to twist inside Sam’s ass, as many as could fit, and make him scream as they fucked and touched him in places no cock ever could, to wrap around Sam’s body and hit every sensitive spot at once-!

Dean realized his hands were buried in the ropes of flesh, holding two in each hand, jerking them furiously as they swelled in his grasp, and still it wasn’t enough, because four more were aching for attention, but he kept at it anyway, the need rising so fast he didn’t have time to freak out, and gasped, sweating, as the ink-like come splattered all around him.

The afterglow of pleasure left Dean feeling drained and drunk, unable to be properly afraid as the tentacles writhed into satisfied quiescence between his thighs. 

Oh, he was so fucked.

Dean finally turned on the shower long minutes later, letting the warm water wash away the sweat and dark spunk, trying and failing to ignore the way his tentacles writhed happily in the water (Dean got a queasy feeling in his stomach when he thought about it, or looked down at himself).

What in the name of God or Lucifer was going on?

\-----

Sam arrived back a half-hour later, but Dean didn’t bother to come out of the bathroom. No, rephrase that, _would not_ come out of the bathroom. Maybe ever.

“Hey, I think I found a connection between all the victims!” Sam called through the door.

“I’m a little busy in here, just tell me,” Dean said, proud his voice sounded normal.

“They all knew someone who ate at the same restaurant, Gaia’s Grill,” Sam said, sounding pleased with himself for his deduction. 

“Oh yeah?” Dean said, stomach sinking when he realized that was exactly where he’d had lunch.

“Yeah, Stan Kabbos, the guy who was gored? Was Jimmy Katz’s business partner, and he had a steak there last week. Marilyn Smith, the woman that had every limb cut off, was Peter Raff’s fiancée, and he ate their crab cakes. And Terrance Fallow, the guy who was disemboweled, was Fred Wallace’s cousin, and he had the pork chops.”

Dean was rapidly trying to fit his new appendages into his shorts, and failing miserably.

“So what’s the theory?”

“I’m not exactly sure how yet, but I think the restaurant’s under a curse. You become what you eat. Eat a steak, grow bull horns, get mad, and gore a guy.”

Dean abandoned his shorts and just wrapped a towel very firmly around his hips for now.

“What?” Sam asked. “No ‘that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard?’”

“I, uh… Think you’re right,” Dean managed. 

“Ok, great, then get out here so we can figure out exactly how to stop it!”

“I can’t,” Dean said, before he could stop himself.

“Dean…” Sam trailed off, and Dean could imagine the expression on his face as realization dawned. “Dean, did you stop somewhere to eat after you worked on the car?”

“There was only one place open!” Dean protested.

“Dean…”

“I had the calamari, ok?” Dean all-but-shouted through the bathroom door.

There was a long moment of silence, and Sam tried the doorknob. It moved, but Dean was leaning against the door, keeping it shut.

“Dean, what happened?”

“I don’t-.”

Sam tried to push the door open more forcefully, and Dean leaned against it harder. If Sam really put effort into it thought, Dean didn’t think he could hold him back.

“Sam, don’t!”

“Dean, I need to see what happened! We have to figure out how this curse is working so we can break it.”

“No fucking way!”

“Dean!”

Dean clenched his jaw and flung the door open, almost making Sam fall on his ass. Staggering, he pulled himself upright and stared at Dean, clad only in a towel, seemingly just as normal as when they’d parted earlier that afternoon.

“Uh… ok?” Sam asked uncertainly.

Dean just stared at him, giving him his best, “You asked for it,” expression, and opened the towel. The tentacles chose that moment to give Sam a little wave of hello. Dean was almost at the point of not giving a crap.

“But-. You-. It-,” Sam sputtered, before finally getting control of himself. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” Dean said through gritted teeth, and wrapped the towel around himself again. “Look, I’m just going to call Cas and see if he can fix this.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Sam asked abruptly.

“Why the hell wouldn’t I?” Dean asked.

“Because Cas is fighting a war in heaven, and if you haven’t noticed, he’s been kind annoyed when we’ve been calling him lately. We should be able to figure out how to handle this on our own, Dean,” Sam said, running his hand through his hair nervously.

“Well…”

“And besides, do you really want to call Cas down here to fix your squidcock?”

Sam kept a straight face for only two seconds. Dean held out for five.

“Squidcock? Seriously?” Dean snorted, and had to sit on the end of the bed before his knees gave out. Trust Sam to put everything in perspective; they’d been dealing with stranger shit than this their whole lives.

“Come on Dean, we’ve figured out weirder curses than this-.”

“I heard that,” Dean said, shaking his head.

“So we can fix this too. We’ll go to the restaurant, check it out, and go from there, ok?

Dean took a deep breath and let it out again. “Ok, Sammy.”

“I’m gonna go shower, then we can take off. The coroner’s office was pretty rank.”

Dean just laid back on the bed as Sam disappeared into the bathroom, really glad he’d washed out all the ink before Sam had gotten back. Thank God Sam was so damn casual about this, because otherwise Dean had been ready to lock himself into the bathroom forever.

He listened idly as the water ran in the bathroom, and might have even dozed off for a second, and woke up as Sam shook his shoulder.

“Hey, wake up, I’m almost done.”

Dean blinked himself back to consciousness as Sam went to go dig through his bag. He wasn’t wearing any more than Dean right now, just a towel around his hips, giving Dean a more than excellent view of Sam’s… skin. Hard muscles were outlined by the remaining moisture from the shower, and the towel wasn’t doing anything to hide his ass. Dean stifled a groan as the damn tentacles began to get interested again, writhing and making it look like he was trying to smuggle a basket of snakes under his towel.

“Dean?”

Great. Just great. Sam had to go and get all concerned while Dean was sporting extra appendages with minds of their own.

Dean opened his eyes when he felt Sam looming over him, the heat from his body palpable. Fuck. Sam could not possibly want to mess around, not now. Could he?

“Do they hurt?” Sam asked softly. His hand was hovering above the wriggling terrycloth, and the tentacles were sending all kinds of hot and bothered signals to Dean’s brain. Not that he needed much encouragement around Sam.

“No,” Dean said, mouth going a little dry.

“Can I see?”

Sam was hunched over, but Dean could see the flush creeping up his neck and had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn’t the only one trying to hide growing problem underneath his towel. Dean let another groan escape as he tugged the cloth free and let Sam pull it away.

Dean heard his breath catch, because hey, tentacles. Not even a lifetime of weird is going to prepare you to see _that_ where they shouldn’t be. But no flinching, no jumping, no disgust crossed Sam’s face. The fantasies from earlier were coming back full-force, the tentacles almost trying to reach up towards Sam, desperate to touch. Dean had to close his eyes and roll his hips just to get himself under control, and Sam gasped audibly.

When he opened his eyes again, Sam had that slightly glazed look that meant his little brain was definitely in charge for a while, and he didn’t mind at all.

“Dean, can I touch them?” he whispered.

Dean nodded slowly, but felt just enough responsibility to give Sam a scrap of warning. “Sammy, you do that, and I’m not gonna stop, ok?” That feeling of _need_ was back again, making Dean ache in places he didn’t know he had. All he did know was that if Sam touched him and kept looking at him like that, Dean was going to lose what little self-control he ever had.

Sam’s hand came down, fingertips brushing against the tapered tips of the tentacles, and something inside Dean snapped.

He shoved himself off the bed pulled himself against Sam, hard. The towel around Sam was gone in an instant, and the tentacles flowed and wrapped themselves around Sam’s cock, each one squeezing along his length, reveling in the heat and hardness. Dean felt himself clutching hard at Sam’s shoulders, the feeling of Sam’s cock wrapped in his own making him gasp. He’d never look at a handjob the same way again, not after this.

“Dean, God, I-,” Sam stammered, pressing into the foreign touch with an expression stupid with pleasure on his face. “Fuck, please…”

“Yeah,” Dean whispered, hips barely moving as the tentacles slid along Sam’s erection. “Yeah, I can do that Sammy.” He was feeling more confident by the minute, the pleasure washing away his apprehension, power building in the pit of his stomach.

Sam’s hands grasped hard across Dean’s back as a tentacle unwound from his cock and slithered back behind his balls, pressing gently into his hole, the tip already slick from secretions. Sam tensed, eyes wide, as two more slid up his chest, their little suckers tugging at his nipples, pulling and pinching to send little shocks of sensation down to his groin.

“Dean, what the fuck, I-.” Sam cut himself off as the one at his ass worked itself deeper, the increasing size starting to stretch him. “Oooooh…” he moaned softly.

“Like that, Sammy?” Dean asked, moving them both one step sideways, and slowly dropping Sam to the mattress, never breaking contact with him for a second. He needed to see Sam lose it completely, to come on his cocks, to take everything he had and more. And more. And more. A fourth tentacle disengaged from Sam’s cock and slid up his chest, starting to outline his lips. Sam didn’t even hesitate before opening up and wrapping his tongue around the invader, making Dean curse as Sam’s talented tongue entwined with the tentacle. Pre-come was slicking the way all over Sam’s body, combined with their sweat, and Dean was starting to move now, every twitch of his hips making the tentacles squeeze harder, go faster, delve deeper.

Sam twitched and moaned underneath him, the vibrations traveling down the tentacle in his mouth straight to Dean’s groin. His hands were limp at his sides, all his coordination gone to his tongue. He sucked hard and opened his mouth, a half-intelligible word spilling out before he put his lips back on the tentacle.

“More!”

Dean growled right in Sam’s ear as two more tentacles disengaged from Sam’s cock, just leaving two to tend to his erection. One wrapped around the base while the last just teased around the head, exploring the crown and caressing down the shaft, making Sam buck in a desperate attempt to get more friction. The two recently freed of their dick duties slid back one at a time to touch delicately at the one disappearing into Sam’s body.

“You want me to fuck you Sammy? Put another one inside you?” Dean asked.

Sam’s legs spread wide in answer, and Dean cursed fervently as a second tentacle slid into Sam beside the first, pumping in alternating rhythm. The third tentacle could feel how stretched Sam was, and Dean could feel Sam tight around the two inside him, but Sam still made a desperate, needy noise in his throat. 

“God, Sam,” Dean whispered and thrust his hips forward hard. The third tentacle eased in beside the first two, and Sam tensed all over in a way Dean recognized as being from ecstasy, flying high and ready to release at a word. The tentacles began to swell as Dean’s body began to overload, bucking out of control from feel of Sam’s mouth, his ass, his cock, the way his body just leaned into every touch, begging for more, craving it as much as Dean.

“Now, Sammy, fuck, _come on!_ ”

Dean almost whited out for a second as the tentacles released into and all over Sam, playing him out, wringing such a long climax out of him that he was probably going to have cramps for days… and not mind a bit. 

By the time Dean had regained the power of sensible speech, Sam was stirring underneath him, eyes fluttering as he returned to consciousness.

“Um, wow,” Sam managed.

“Holy crap.” That about summed up Dean’s feelings on the matter.

“We really gotta break this curse. I can’t do that every day.”

Either that, Dean reflected ruefully, or they were going to fuck themselves to death. 

\-----

The only bad thing about trying to investigate the restaurant was that-.

“I can’t get into my pants!” Dean yelled, throwing his last pair of jeans against the wall.

“Well, I could just go take a look around for myself,” Sam suggested, getting dressed in the kind of gingerly way that told Dean they’d been more than a little too enthusiastic.

“No way. Hell, what if whoever cursed the place is still there and makes you? Then he could force you to eat snails or something. No way,” Dean said flatly.

“Ew,” Sam said, shuddering. “Ok, but you can’t exactly walk around with… that.” He waved at the general direction of Dean’s crotch. “Wait,” he said, suddenly, and tried to hold back a smile. “I have an idea. Give me a half-hour, I’ll be back.”

Dean, frustrated at being trapped indoors, hopped on the laptop on the chance that somehow he might find _something_ that would help explain his current predicament, not to mention those of the poor saps who’d died or disappeared in the past two weeks.

In a half-hour, he’d found something. Unfortunately, so had Sam.

“What the hell is that?” Dean asked, eyeing the plaid cloth Sam pulled out of a bag.

“It’s a kilt.”

Dean waited for the punch line. None came. “Sam, what the fuck, I’m not wearing a damn skirt!”

“Dean, you can’t wear pants, you’re _insisting_ on coming with me, we were lucky enough that the Highland Games were in town so I could get one, so it’s the only real option you have!”

The tentacles chose that moment to start writhing around restlessly, so Dean grabbed the kilt with ill grace and put it on.

“It’s you,” Sam said, holding back laughter.

“Shut up, I think I found why people that eat at the restaurant are becoming their lunch. Turns out two weeks ago there was a protest by some vegan hippies about cruelty to animals. When the police got them to clear out, one of them got into the kitchen that night and ‘vandalized’ the restaurant’s appliances by scratching designs into the metal. Since it didn’t actually make the appliances break, they kept using them.” Dean pulled his shirt and jacket on as he spoke, trying to ignore the kilt with all his willpower.

“Vandalized? You mean put a cursing sigil on them,” Sam said.

“Exactly.”

“So we need to find this vegan hippie and figure out the counter-curse,” Sam said thoughtfully. 

Dean went to grab his shoes and realized they had their answer right there, between his waist and knees.

“Highland Games,” he said suddenly.

“Druids,” Sam said, getting it instantly. 

\-----

“This sucks,” Dean groused, spitting out grass and sod as they trudged back to the motel.

“Well, we figured out the case,” Sam said, pulling a vine out of his sleeve. 

“Yeah, yeah, unlikely druid calls up ancestor to help her PETA cause, things get out of hand, big time. Tell that to the three mooks who died,” Dean said.

“That _was_ the ancestor’s fault,” Sam pointed out. “Once we exorcised her, Alice was more than happy to help de-curse everyone she’d rounded up.”

“ _That’s_ what sucks!”

“Hey, not every curse is a quick fix. Just be glad there was a way to break it.”

“I have to be vegan for a month, Sam. A whole frigging month!”

“That’s better than the alternative.”

Dean shuddered at the thought of cutting his new appendages off with no guarantee that his original would regrow.

“Besides, it could be a really good month,” Sam said, raising an eyebrow suggestively. “Squidcock.”

Dean flipped Sam the bird. “Fuck you, Sammy.”

“While they last.” Sam’s voice was more than a bit suggestive.

Dean stopped in his tracks, lust flaring as the damned kilt flapped around his thighs, his hopefully temporary tentacles squirming in anticipation. Yeah, they might just make up for an otherwise miserable month.


End file.
